


King

by audraeity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Voldemort wins and Draco is powerful, dark au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audraeity/pseuds/audraeity
Summary: Lord Voldemort has finally won, the streets of Dark London are now crowded with death eaters. Draco Malfoy is the Dark Lord's prodigal student; powerful and merciless with no weaknesses. Except for one: Hermione Granger.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Voldemort wins and Draco is very powerful... but also in love with Hermione.

“Mister-, Sir-, I-” A death eater stumbled into his office, tripping slightly on their cloak. There was a time in Draco’s life where he had found it quite amusing. The more power that he managed to amass seemed to exponentiate everyone’s nervousness around him. But now, he just found it annoying — the more time someone spent stuttering like a fool in front of him was time wasted from other more important things. Still, sometimes when he was stressed, he languidly let them tremble in front of him.

  
“Spit it out,” He growled, placing his quill down, “and it better be worth it. Every second you eat of my time is another second added to your Grey.”

  
Greying, of course, was another plan instituted by Voldemort to encourage his followers to be obedient. Darkness was the ideal shade, the darker you were, the better. But greying, now that was the opposite of where someone wanted to be. That means they had too much light in them; they were growing soft. All followers that were incompetent were sent to get Greyed, where they received some quite painful encouragement to perform better.

  
Draco never bothered to attend Greying ceremonies. They were always the same — begging for reprieve, that they will do better — but of course they would, the Greying is a reminder that they would.

  
“They’ve been captured.” The death eater breathlessly gasped, their eyes trained obediently to the ground. Draco leaned back, trying to hide the way that his heart jumped. Well that’s good news, “I present to you, their wands.” The three wands were set on Draco’s desk and he could immediately identify which one was Granger’s.

  
“That’s wonderful to hear,” He drawled, “you’re dismissed.” Draco heard an audible sound of relief as the man shuffled out of the office.

  
It meant that Granger was somewhere in the depths of the dungeons. His hand twitched — he had imagined the day that he could look at her in the eyes. Draco scoffed, there was no possible way that she would harbour any sort of emotion but contempt for him. The Dark Lord’s preference towards him was no private matter. He was more than sure that news had travelled to the Order of the Phoenix. Being the prodigious adopted son of the Dark Lord certainly doesn’t win him any points.

  
He slowly stood up, tucking the hood of his black cloak over his head. Nevertheless, Voldemort would be pleased with the news and he would be the first to deliver it.

  
Ever since he had been crowned Lord Voldemort’s shining pupil, everyone had known to not cross Draco Malfoy. It came as no surprise — the favouritism was clear ever since Draco had killed off Dumbledore. The praise and glory that Voldemort had cast around him was like a protective barrier. Even his father, Lucius Malfoy, had been a mix of proud and jealous for a few minutes.  
With the public declaration, he had ascended the ranks to seat at number two. Surpassing even Voldemort’s most loyal and senior followers. Aunt Bellatrix’s sneer had put him in a smug high for weeks. During official meetings, Draco’s only superior became the Lord himself. Surely, all it proved was that power was more important than love. He was more than confident that he was certainly not loved — but who really needed it anyways?

  
“My Lord,” Draco kneeled, making sure that his knees pointed towards Voldemort and only him. Afterall, there is no one else Draco needed to bow to pay respects.

  
“Draco, my boy,” Voldemort called. In these times, Voldemort almost played the caring father — but his endearments held no warmth. He was no better than Lucius Malfoy at playing daddy dearest, but at least Voldemort could give him something.

  
Draco rose once acknowledged, “I have just received reports that they had been captured.” He didn’t need to elaborate any more.

  
“Draco,” Voldemort smiled. It was not an expression that improved his features, “There is a reason why I have named you my successor. You never fail me.”

“Come, lets meet our latest recruits.”

\--

The dungeons were dark and dingy, lit up with flickering lanterns. There was a certain dampness to them, as if the cells were drowned in water years ago and never got fully flushed out.  
“Your mask,” Voldemort said, flicking his wand so Draco was equipped with their standard anonymous gear.

  
“How charming,” The Dark Lord crooned. Ron Weasley sat in the corner, his normal red hair was matted and dirty. At the noise, he had looked up and gave them the most reproachful look he possibly could have mustered.

  
“Nice of you to come visit,” Weasley spat.

  
“You should be honoured,” Draco replied, twisting his wand in a nonchalant way.

  
The weasel scowled, “I would be surprised you would want to get your shoes dirty, ferret.” Draco stiffened, he didn’t expect the weasel to recognize him that easily. It has been, afterall, years since they had any sort of formal conversation.

  
“It’s a shame that the Weasleys are a pureblooded family,” Draco clicked his tongue, “all this potential to be wasted on a bunch of hot-headed Gryffindors. How unfortunate.”

  
“I would rather be a squib than be with the likes of you!” Weasley growled, trying to stand up without success. His arms and legs were shackled to the concrete wall.

  
“It’s a shame that purebloods could land on the wrong side of the war. I’d be willing to give you some reprieve, Weasel,” Draco sighed, “afterall, your blood is much better than your other friends. We wouldn’t want some half bloods muddying the genetic pools, wouldn’t you agree Ronald?”

  
“Don’t talk about them like that!” He yelled, pathetically swinging his arms. The death eaters had de-wanded them.

  
“Can’t do wandless magic weasel?” Draco cooed, each word laced with poison, “Since you’re of a... semi-reputable pureblooded family. I’m inclined to give you some special accommodations.” His wand was still dancing through his fingers, “Join our ranks.”

  
“And I get what?” Ron snarled. Draco was surprised, he had thought it was going to be a clear negative. He could almost feel Voldemort jumping at a chance to Crucio the weasel. Lucky for him, Voldemort had allowed Draco to be in charge of the transactions.

  
Draco shrugged, “The mark is a gift within itself weasel. Wouldn’t you want to put your poor Gryffindor loyalty towards the winning side?” He let out a cynical chuckle, “Or should I say, the side that already won?”

  
The weasel gave them a dirty glare, but otherwise stayed silent. So he knew that they had lost. Draco’s bargain wasn’t exactly a bad one, it was a new start for him. True power meant that Voldemort had to have members from all four Hogwarts houses. Ravenclaws were easy to persuade, they tended to follow the winning numbers. Hufflepuffs were easily intimidated and would cave easily under severe threats. Gryffindors were the hardest to recruit — their house loyalty was almost as strong as Slytherins. Their abrasiveness and head-strong personalities were hard to persuade, but there were still Gryffindors within their ranks. Afterall, no matter which house you were in, no one wanted to be on the losing side of the war.

  
Voldemort smiled. To the outsider, it might seem like a grimace to how deformed his face was, but Draco knew him well enough that it was something a little more pleasant. “I think we’re done here,” Voldemort said, his robes swished against Draco’s pants as he turned around.

\--

“Isn’t this just so delightful, Draco?” Voldemort asked, “I’ve always dreamt of a Hogwarts reunion, but I don’t think I’d be welcomed back.”

  
“I don’t think Hogwarts would be particularly fond of my presence either,” Draco responded dryly.

  
“Thank goodness I’m bringing the reunion to you,” Voldemort chuckled, “It would be nice to clear up some old histories wouldn’t it be?”

  
When he saw who was sitting on the cold floor, his breath caught briefly. She was just a run down version of who he had previously seen. Albeit all the previous occurrences were just Draco catching flashes of her hair across glowing hexes and jinxes. Every time Granger was in the same vicinity as him, he stayed far away — he couldn’t sit and watch her die, but he couldn’t overtly protect her. All he had to do was trust that Potter and the weasel would do their due diligence — but apparently they hadn’t. She sat in the dungeons now, silent to the Dark Lord and Draco’s footsteps.

  
“How wonderful,” the Dark Lord said, “a mudblood within our walls.” He turned to Draco, “Why don’t you greet your classmate, where are your manners?”

  
Draco shuffled forward, his throat felt like it was closing up for a second, “Granger.” He choked out. She remained unresponsive.

  
“I’d suggest you show your future Dark Lord some respect,” Voldemort snarled. Draco’s eyes shot to Voldemort’s face. It was the first time that the Dark Lord had expressed his rank in such a forward manner. It wasn’t that Draco didn’t think that Voldemort would die, it just never crossed his mind very often. Of course, when time came, Draco would have access to the entire empire. The thought frightened him.

  
“Death eaters do not deserve any respect,” She spat, still refusing to look them in the eyes. Draco preferred it that way — that way he didn’t have to face his decisions. Especially when they were reflected in her eyes. But still, he would rather suffer than Granger to suffer. Just kneel, he begged in his mind, if you know what's good for you. But he knew she was such a bloody Gryffindor — too much pride in their veins.

  
“Very well,” Voldemort said, “Crucio.” And then she was screaming, heart wrenching screams that tugged at Draco’s heartstrings. But he stood stiffly behind Voldemort, grateful that the Dark Lord’s attention was too focused on Granger to take notice of him. His hand twitched against his wand, wanting to at least stun her to relieve her of this misery.

  
Granger’s chains clanked against the wall as Voldemort aimed at her knees, forcing them to buckle and kneel. Draco could trace where Voldemort centered the curse as her body twisted into a praying position at their feet. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

  
She was a fixture in the back of his mind everyday. Draco knew that he was untouchable, but Granger... He cursed himself, it was partially his fault that she was suffering now.

  
“I think we’re done here Draco.” Voldemort said, turning to leave. He was pleased that Granger was on the floor, silent and staring at the cracks in the floor.

  
As he turned to leave, he heard her shift, “Malfoy.”

  
Draco paused, it took all of his willpower to not look at her. He could imagine her, still on the floor, brown eyes focused on his back. He heard her spit at his feet. He deserved it. He really did.  
“I hope you’re happy with yourself.” She said, “She wouldn’t be happy.”

  
Draco refused to show any weakness in front of Voldemort. Draco knew Granger was talking about his mother — Narcissa Malfoy.

  
“Granger,” He said slowly, making sure that his eyes revealed no emotion, “I’m confused as to what you’re talking about.” Narcissca was never on board with her husband and son’s decisions, but she was family loyal. Draco had done almost everything to get rid of any suspicion that Voldemort harboured over his mother. It wouldn’t be good for Granger’s comment to send his mother into danger again.

  
Draco’s rise to power seemed to protect his mother for the current time being. But the Dark Lord was volatile and ready to kill any traitors within his ranks. Not that Narcissa would become a traitor, but even Draco’s mother was not above Voldemort’s plans.

  
He headed out of the cell. Before he could leave, he took one look back. In the brief moment, he locked eyes with Granger, her form still curled up on the floor, expression covered with pure hatred. Hate me, Granger, as you should.

  
“I will be leaving now, Lord.” Draco bowed, he really had no interest in Potter.

  
“So soon?” The Dark Lord asked, “We still have yet to meet our prized possession.”

  
“To be completely honest,” Draco said, “I have nothing to say to Potter.”

  
Lord Voldemort raised an eyebrow, “Very well Draco, I shall see you later.”

  
Draco deeply bowed and apparated away, Hermione’s form burned in the back of his mind.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> draco is powerful and protective of his granger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! back with another chapter! 
> 
> i'm going to try to update at least once a week. its summer which means i don't really have much to do so this will hopefully not take that much time. 
> 
> i've also planned some preliminary chapters up to like around 20ish. this is a story thats more about the relationship and less with an actual fighting-the-world kinda plot

When Draco returned to his private quarters, he suddenly felt incredibly tired. Granger’s face flashed consistently through his mind, a haunting ghost that couldn’t let him go. 

He collapsed on top of a leather couch, draping one leg uncouthly over the armrest. Draco could only feel comfortable here. It was his private residence, something that he had drawn out a couple galleons to purchase a few years ago. Ever since he had risen through the ranks, the only one who had the right to question Draco’s whereabouts was Voldemort himself. Other than the times where Voldemort needed to do something, the Dark Lord really didn’t care where Draco went. 

That, Draco thought, was truly the greatest blessing. He was absolutely sure that if Voldemort really wanted to know where he was, he had the utmost power to. As of right now, the location of his private residence wasn’t something that he felt an overwhelming urge to hide. Certain rooms perhaps, but disappearing completely off the grid for hours at a time was too dangerous, even for Voldemort’s beloved right hand man, Draco Malfoy himself. If he was too secretive, it would come off as suspicious. 

Draco closed his eyes, desperately trying to get Granger’s face out of his mind. He wished he could protect her — the way that she looked at him; the contempt. _Good, Granger, hate me._ Draco sighed, he deserved none of her respect. What would a righteous Gryffindor have, other than disgust, for someone like him? A Slytherin that had no back bone to defect, who had climbed the ranks of the Dark side even though he didn’t agree with what Voldemort wanted from the wizarding world. 

“Granger, Granger, Granger,” Draco twirled her name in his mouth, “You always had to be the righteous one. Perfect, studious, always fighting for the right things. Some of us are too weak.”

With a poof, Fribbler, Malfoy’s house elf apparated into the private residence. Other than Fribbler, no other person has ever set foot into his sanctuary. “Mrs. Bellatrix is searching for Master Malfoy.”    
  


Draco sighed, it seemed as if he couldn’t catch a break. “Fribbler, does it seem important?”

Fribbler wrung his hands, “Fribbler is unsure. Mrs. Bellatrix asked Fribbler for Master Malfoy’s whereabouts. Fribbler came to search for you.” 

Draco nodded, Aunt Bellatrix had an awful tendency of calling upon Draco for whatever small innocuous statement she had. Really, if she wasn’t his Aunt (and for Slytherin’s habit of respecting familial bonds), Draco wouldn’t give her another second in his day. 

He quickly apparated back into Malfoy Manor. His room was pristine, untouched because he rarely ever chose to sleep there. As he stepped into the main hall, he was greeted with Bellatrix, giggling quietly to herself. If it weren’t for her staunch loyalty to Voldemort, Draco would’ve thrown her out on the grounds of mental insanity. 

“Draco, Draco,” Bellatrix laughed, rushing to his side, “Did you hear about Potter?” 

“Yes Aunt Bellatrix,” He said dryly, he was the first one it was reported to. He didn’t mention that to her face though. 

“Aren’t you so excited?” She asked, her obscenely long nails dug into his cloak, “Especially that mudblood. People like her don’t deserve to be in the wizarding world.” 

Draco stiffened at the words, a defensive insult at the tip of his tongue. But it would do no good to defend Granger in front of Bellatrix. His shoulders relaxed in relief as Bellatrix continued to drone on. 

  
“How could they ever be as good as a pureblood wizard?” She laughed, “Their skills are pure luck! They deserve to bow down to those who maintain this society.” 

“How could she be as good as our Draco?” Bellatrix continued, aimlessly walking around the halls, “How could she even dare think of competing for top marks at Hogwarts?”

Draco showed no emotion. It was no secret that Granger and him went head to head during their Hogwarts days. As much as she was good at every other subject, Draco had kept his skills in potions and the dark arts. Not to mention, Granger was scared witless at the thought of flying. He could barely contain his smile as he thought of Granger’s fearful face in front of something as unthreatening as a broom. For a girl who fearlessly defeated dementors, you’d think that she could get over her fear of flying. 

“She should be grateful that she even had the opportunity!” Bellatrix screeched. Surely, Draco thought, there was nothing normal about this woman anymore. 

Sick of her prattling, Draco cut his Aunt off, “Aunt Bellatrix, if you had anything you wanted to bring up, please be concise about it.” 

Bellatrix smiled cruelly, walking towards Draco, “Draco, darling, it would be my pleasure if you could hand over-” 

“No.” Before he could even help himself, his mouth had answered for him. 

“Draco,” Bellatrix crooned, “You know how much disgust I have for mudbloods, wouldn’t you think that it would be perfect?” That was the exact reason why he would never hand over Granger over to Bellatrix. He couldn’t give a damn about Potter or Weasley, but he would never leave Granger in the hands of someone as heartless as Bellatrix. 

“Bellatrix,” He softly said, “forgive my wording, but I don’t trust you to not kill her.” _He had to keep her alive._

“What's the point of not killing her?” Bellatrix asked, “It’s not like they’re going to get anything even if they escape. For someone like her, maybe death would be a blessing.” 

“Granger is my prisoner, you have no jurisdiction over what happens to her,” Draco had to stop himself from saying other things. You can’t hurt her, she’s mine. 

Bellatrix dramatically sighed, “Oh Draco, always so possessive. I’ll let this one go for now, I would love to see some good retribution.” Bellatrix tapped his cheek, “When you do decide to do something, I request an invitation to watch.”    
  


Draco fought to hide his disgusted grimace. To think that he was blood related to people like Bellatrix was truly a revolting thing. 

“Oh Draco, it’s only because I love you,” Bellatrix hummed, “I’m off to take care of other things.” She practically bounced out of the hall. 

“Insanity,” Draco muttered, “This family is filled with insanity. All this just for an open invitation to torture Granger.”    
  


He still didn’t know what to do with Granger yet. He had his guards around her cell, given direct orders that no one were to touch her. Draco certainly couldn’t just come in and propose. He scoffed, what would he even say? _Hermione Granger, I know I spent my entire life going against you and you thought that I was evil but trust me, I truly am not. I’m not who you think I am._

Like that would go well. But he still couldn’t give her off his mind. Even in the cell, with the dirty matted hair, he thought she was beautiful. She was brilliant as a fire, full of energy and fight, even until the last moment. As much as Draco was an excellent wizard — Voldemort had made sure that he was no less than perfect — she still was defiant and righteous towards the last moment. He wanted to take her by her shoulders and shake her, “Don’t you know when to stop fighting? Don’t you know that if you could just turn yourself in I can protect you?” 

But Granger was better than that. Granger was better than him. While she stood her fierce ground, Draco had clung onto his Slytherin roots. It was all he knew how to do — let the pureblooded title protect him from whatever harm that went his way. Voldemort’s interest in him was unplanned and unprecedented. But he couldn’t just stop — to reject Voldemort’s praise was akin to declaring himself a traitor against the Dark Lord. By the time he wanted to defect, Draco was already in too deep to leave. His mother would surely be hurt, he could only imagine the slurs that Bellatrix would’ve thrown across the dining table. 

Draco shook his head. Instead of helping outwardly, he could only do what he could. Accidentally losing a map in the middle of the battlefront, dropping hints of location whereabouts, planting prison coordinates; but they were all done in secret and by himself. He didn’t dare talk about his traitorous actions to anyone else and didn’t dare reveal himself to the other side as well. Draco was much too careful to risk anything ruining his position and power. Afterall, being at this proximity to Voldemort put him in a perfect position to do whatever he liked. 

“Whatever,” He scowled to himself, scratching at his hair. There's not much he could do right now and as much as he wanted to go see Granger, it would set off too many alarm bells. It wasn’t like Granger would want to see him right now either. 

“I need a drink,” He muttered, apparating himself to Knockturn Alley. Draco rarely frequented Diagon Alley anymore — there were still a few shops left, but all owners that weren’t sympathetic towards Voldemort’s cause were shut down. There weren’t as many wizards that frequented the area anymore, at least, not as much as Knockturn Alley now. 

None of the shops in Knockturn Alley had been affected — after all, they were a section of shops that were once disgraced. Their patrons had to sneak to buy the dark goods that they desired. Ever since the Dark Lord had taken reign over wizarding London, Knockturn Alley has received a bountiful influx of customers. 

Draco tucked his blonde hair in his hood — he really didn’t want to draw any more attention onto himself than he should. His robe was made out of a thick, rich material that barely grazed the floor. It was lined with dark forest green, a nod towards his Hogwarts house. If passerbys didn’t take a peek at his face, they could certainly tell his rank through the quality of his robe. Ignoring the silent stare of all the passersbys, he made his way into the White Wyvern. 

There was a slight hiccup in the conversation lull as the current patrons noticed who entered the tavern. If Draco had noticed, he surely didn’t show that he did. When he sat down at the bar, a witch bartender was already in front of him. 

“The usual?” She asked, leaning across the bar. Draco nodded, pulling a coin out of his pouch. He didn’t frequent the area very much, but whenever he did he always ordered the same drinks. 

“Well, if it isn’t the great Draco Malfoy,” someone slid into the stool next to him. 

He didn’t even have to turn to know who it was, “Astoria Greengrass.” 

“Who would’ve known I’d catch you at Knockturn?” She asked, signaling for the bartender to come take her order. 

“What do you want, Ms. Greengrass?” Draco asked, nursing the drink that he had just been served. The familiar bitter taste of alcohol greeted his tongue. 

“Why are you so cold to me?” Astoria practically cooed, “We’re hardly strangers.” 

“We’re hardly friends.” Draco deadpanned, watching the ice tinkle around the glass. He had came to brew his worries and concern about Granger over a good drink, not to entertain the likes of Astoria. He still didn’t know what to do with the pretty brunette sitting in a jail cell under his care and he’ll be damned if she was doomed to live there for the rest of her life. Well, it is better alive than dead. But he could just imagine Granger’s expression, he could already hear her voice ringing in his head — _I would rather die than rot in a place as despicable as this!_

No, he mused, he had to get her out of there somehow. 

“Well,” Astoria cut him out of his own thoughts, “I was suggested that we should start getting _friendlier_ with eachother.”    
  


“What gave you this impression?” He asked mildly. It was no secret that Astoria’s family had been pushing her to go after Draco. 

_“Draco, the Greengrass family has been so loyal towards the cause. It would be our honor to declare our loyalty towards the Malfoy family. You’re surely familiar with our daughter — Astoria, isn’t she just the lovely image of a pureblooded witch?”_ Astoria’s mother had cooed during a celebratory dinner. This occurred just after Draco’s favoritism was clearly revealed by Lord Voldemort himself. 

  
Astoria had practically preened under the compliment. But Draco took no heed — they had wanted him because he was Voldemort’s adored. He had power. The Greengrasses wanted to alliance themselves to Draco and more importantly, the Malfoy name. 

“Certainly, haven’t you heard Draco?” Astoria asked. Draco shifted slightly, the first large movement he had made since Astoria sat down. She took it as a question, continuing, “Your father and my father have been in a conversation for a while — they think it would be a good idea for us to get to know each other.”    
  


“Cut the chase, it’s to get married.” Draco said, taking another drink. He would rather drown than marry the likes of Astoria Greengrass. She couldn’t compare to Granger. During Hogwarts, she had slacked off in her classes, spending her time snogging in the hallways. In the hands of Lord Voldmort, she was nothing but a puppet. In Draco’s eyes, Astoria could also become nothing more than a pretty side table. But in his heart, Astoria could never replace Granger. It would be like trying to replace a phoenix with a squirrel. 

Astoria was hardly the life partner that Draco had imagined for himself. She would be too weak to understand his true feelings — about how much he secretly despised the Dark Lord despite his own gained power. How he couldn’t ever forgive Voldemort for his treatment of Draco’s mother. For the likes of Astoria, all she could ever dream to taste was the power and that was all she would ever want. 

He couldn’t marry Astoria. He had to talk to the Dark Lord. 

“I’m leaving,” Draco said, standing up. 

“Draco, aren’t you going to pay for my drink?” Astoria asked. He looked at her, trying hard to quell the sudden surge of annoyance. 

“Here,” He pushed at her a galleon — more than enough for the drink she had ordered. 

“Thanks Draco, you’ll be a great husband.” 

“I’m going to talk to the Dark Lord,” Draco turned around. 

Astoria grinned, “I’m sure he would love to hear of our future matrimony.” 


End file.
